


What A Heart In The Hand Is Worth

by FourLeaves413



Series: The Fox and The Hound [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Also unexpectedly sappy, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Body Worship, Charon is a big softy, Come as Lube, Crying During Sex, Cuddling, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Sex, I promise, Laughter During Sex, Love Confessions, Minor Violence, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rape Recovery, Riding, Seriously how did this turn out so soft, The Sexual Violence Is Brief, Thigh-Riding, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25601086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourLeaves413/pseuds/FourLeaves413
Summary: In which the unthinkable inevitable happens and Charon is (emotionally) constipated."They didn't talk about the night he quite literally caught her with her pants down. They didn't talk about how he ate her out, kissed her thighs, and even cleaned her up afterward. Charon was mostly thankful for this. It was no big deal. They both got on with their lives. There was no awkward conversation starting with– "hey, what was that about?" And that was fine with him. If death by sheer awkwardness was possible, Charon was certain that exchange would kill him.But they didn't talk about it. And he was mostly grateful for that. But only mostly."
Relationships: Charon (Fallout)/Female Lone Wanderer, Charon (Fallout)/Lone Wanderer
Series: The Fox and The Hound [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855591
Comments: 11
Kudos: 89





	What A Heart In The Hand Is Worth

**Author's Note:**

> Repeated Warning– Brief sexual violence near the beginning. I think it does need to be said– you and I both know the last thing someone wants after getting raped is More Sex. But it's also my story and that's how it happened. The rest is softer than soft! Thanks for reading!

They didn't talk about the night he quite literally caught her with her pants down. They didn't talk about how he ate her out, kissed her thighs, and even cleaned her up afterward. Charon was mostly thankful for this. It was no big deal. They both got on with their lives. There was no awkward conversation starting with– "hey, what was that about?" And that was fine with him. If death by sheer awkwardness was possible, Charon was certain that exchange would kill him.

But they didn't talk about it. And he was mostly grateful for that. But only mostly.

Because when she _smiled_ at him, it wasn't quite the same. When she touched him, it lingered longer than strictly necessary. There was a different sort of spark in her eyes when she looked at him- perhaps some sort of trust which hadn't been there before.

The worst part was, it wasn't just her. Charon found himself looking at her sometimes. _Admiring_. She was his employer, he'd remind himself. Noticing the way the sun glinted off her red hair was entirely inappropriate. So too was the occasional tender, sweet, _awful_ urge to tuck her hair behind her ear. And yet, an hour later, he'd catch himself watching her again, damnedably fond.

It was confusing, and exactly what Charon had hoped to avoid. Something had changed between them, and he no longer knew where he stood.

That is, until he was standing outside her bedroom.

She'd gotten a "wild hair," she'd called it. A sudden obsession with a scoped magnum pistol she'd picked up somewhere. He didn't blame her for wanting it in good condition- she could take out a raider from over fifty meters away– he just wished she'd go about repairing it in a more traditional way.

Instead, per her request, he was leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs in her Megaton home in his plainclothes, trying not to roll his eyes at her over-the-top moans. He wondered how many suckers could tell how fake she was. This one, a mechanic of sorts, obviously couldn't tell or didn't care, if his gutteral groans were anything to go by. Charon wondered what she was getting out of it. Little pleasure, he was certain. How many caps-worth of spare parts? How many hours of repair-work? What did she think her body and time was worth?

She obviously thought too little of herself if she was willing to let wastelanders use her body just so she could have a gun in good condition. A night loving her was worth more than a plinky little magnum, he thought as a familiar anger reared its head. She'd slept with scavvers for less, and at the end of the day, only ever got exactly what she had traded for.

Charon had noticed Victoria never sought out another's "company". Nova at Moriarty's was a flirt, and he'd watched Victoria fire back at her with remarks just shy of promises, and yet, she never stayed– not that Charon had seen anyway. The odd wanderer here or there would sometimes try to pin her down, swearing up and down they'd be good to her, they could supply for her, keep her safe. Victoria invariably laughed in their faces with complete disregard. Not a single one of them were auspicious enough for even a one-night stand, and every time she spurned an advance, Charon had to remember to hide his satisfaction.

She never had any problems taking care of herself, however, apart from finding the time and privacy to do so. After that night out in the wastes, Charon had made it a habit to "take a walk" before bed when it was her turn to take first watch. Not that he was that adverse to a repeat of their little tryst, but she did deserve the privacy. He'd walk out a hundred meters or so, sit with his back to their camp and enjoy the night sky, observe the moonlit wasteland, and walk back after ten or so minutes had passed. He tried so very hard not to think about what she spent those minutes doing, but every so often he'd walk past her on his way to his bedroll and get a faint whiff of a familiar, warm, tart scent– and his cheeks would _hurt_ with how much his mouth watered. Once or twice he'd walked back and caught glances of her cleaning her fingers with her mouth, and he'd promptly laid on his side, his back to her to hide any of his body's shameful responses.

She, on the other hand, was shameless, and began working it into her nightly routine as well. When it was his turn to take first watch, she'd "take a walk" of her own and give him sufficient time and privacy– assuming she didn't peep on him with her sniper's scope. (The thought almost made him smile uncomfortably.) When she did come back, she was usually courteous enough to act like she had no idea or interest in what he did, but every so often, she'd walk back with a mischievous glint in her eyes that was growing more and more familiar. She'd grin knowingly and wink, Charon would inevitably flush and get irritably embarrassed, then she'd look up at the stars, utterly distracted, the picture of innocence.

A particularly high gasp and moan brought him out of his thoughts and he stifled a snort. She was really laying it on thick for this mechanic– she really wanted this gun in good shape.

He couldn't help but wonder why Victoria had asked him to stand guard. She knew how easily sound carried through the thin, tin walls, but she wouldn't be cruel enough to use her prostitution to taunt him. That wasn't her _intent_ , at the very least. As much as he chuckled and rolled his eyes at her theatrics, part of him imagined it was him who was with her, who was not being performed for, but was instead pulling such sounds from her. It was a filthy, indulgent fantasy that he never let himself truly think about. It simply sat in his subconscious and made times like these bearable. He wasn't going to be jealous when Victoria called out their names, which she had taken care to learn only for that reason. He knew he was more to her than any sucker she conned, and that was more than enough to keep him satisfied.

" _Charon_!"

Yes, she'd sound something like that– he thought idly– breathless and beautiful. Then, a different kind of sound– flesh striking flesh, and Victoria cried out and screamed his name again in a way that yanked Charon forward by his contract; by the intangible thread tied around his heart.

He slammed the door open. Victoria was pinned to the bed on her belly, stark naked. The scruffy, wild, equally nude mechanic had both hands wrapped around her neck, his hips still pumping into her with malice. There was a mix of terror and fury in her eyes as her legs kicked wildly, her arms scrabbling at his hands, his arms, whatever she could reach.

The contract had Charon halfway across the room before he'd registered his feet had moved. _The employer must be protected_.

He grabbed the mechanic by the hair and ripped him away from his mistress. The man swore and turned on Charon, but Charon charged him, running him into the metal wall. He easily wrestled the mechanic to face the wall and wrenched both hands high behind his back. Charon's blood boiled with hatred and outrage, fueled by every other time his mistress had been treated unfairly– all those other bastards that took advantage of her body. He had a good excuse to be openly angry with this one.

Silence, save for the sound of each of them breathing hard. Victoria coughed like she was vomiting up a lung, but Charon did not take his eyes off the mechanic. Victoria was breathing enough to cough. She was alright. A glimmer of relief dampened his anger– but only for a moment.

The mechanic got his bearings enough to start swearing and struggling, but Charon leveraged his arms higher and headbutted him in the temple. His head collided with the rusty wall with a satisfying, echoing _bang_ , and Charon felt the mechanic's legs shudder, disoriented. There was usually some pleasure involved in almost knocking someone's lights out, but not so much this time. Not with Victoria wheezing behind him.

The man was smart enough not to speak or struggle again. After Victoria had caught her breath, Charon heard her stand. He waited with the patience of a saint as she no doubt deliberated justice. If it was up to him, the man would be shot and piked outside Megaton, naked, to ward off any similar bastards. Or maybe castrated and thrown out into the wastes to die of infection or worse. But, it was Victoria's decision, and he wondered idly what it would be. She had wanted his expertise in repairing her gun, so his skills may be worth his life, but he had tried to kill her when she'd moaned Charon's... He quickly shuffled that train of thought to the back of his mind. That was a can of worms to open preferably never. Or _perhaps_ late at night to torture himself and pass the time on watch. First things first, this jackass had to be dealt with.

He heard bare feet pad their way to the dresser, then the quiet click of a safety. Charon couldn't stifle his proud, bloodthirsty grin, even as the mechanic began to weakly struggle again. Victoria walked into his periphery, his naked angel of vengeance, and leveled her beloved magnum at the man's head. "Watch your ears, Charon," she said, voice rougher than he'd ever heard it.

"Wait, _you're_ –" Victoria squeezed the trigger. The bullet was through the skull and the wall in an instant, but the gunshot rattled around the room, even after the man's body hit the floor, incredulous words still half-formed on his tongue.

Victoria was standing stock-still with her gun raised, obviously shaken from the ordeal. Charon didn't blame her. He crouched to dispose of the body to avoid looking at her. He was afraid he would stare if he truly laid eyes on her, and she shouldn't have to deal with this greasy bastard's body for a second longer.

"Charon, stop," She said shakily. The contract tightened its hold around his ribcage when he hesitated, but it eased as he stood. He closed his eyes, trying to preserve her modesty. _You've eaten her out before. You're worried about seeing a pair of breasts?_ A voice inside him jabbed. Before he could retort, the gun clattered to the floor and Victoria was pressed against him.

Charon's brain short-circuited for several heartbeats. Her arms were desperately wrapped around his waist, her heaving breasts were pressed to his chest, face buried in his shoulder, and Charon was frozen in shock. His brain scrambled to comprehend the situation, still unsure of where he stood.

She was in need of comfort, and came to _him_ for it? Well, he was the closest nearby, and she knew he _had_ to protect her, so that could mean nothing. She'd let him pleasure her all those weeks ago in the wastes, and that had supposed to have meant nothing, but things _had_ been different between them. She had called _his_ name during sex with someone else. He had no idea if that meant she wanted him, or if she just happened to be thinking about him at the moment–

She tentatively began to pull away, knowing he was not usually fond of physical contact, and Charon abandoned his train of thought. He didn't need to know what she wanted him to be– he knew what she needed, and Charon could provide.

He wrapped his arms securely around her waist and across her shoulders before Victoria could pull away enough to look up. It took a moment, but then her legs all but gave out and she was shaking like a leaf, gripping the back of his shirt like a lifeline. Charon was more than content to hold her tight and let her cry, and cry she did.

Somewhere inside him, a voice scolded her. _This is what you get, stupid girl, whoring out your body to any wastelander who promises to give you what you want. Whores are expendable, and you're bound to sleep with some bastards who know that. This is a danger that you should have expected._

Charon curled his lip against the unwelcome voice. It was wrong. Victoria was not a whore, she was a seductress, a succubus, a young woman with big pretty eyes, but a bigger brain. She must know such things could happen. Perhaps that was why she had him stand guard this time around. She wasn't stupid, and her innocence had long since faded. She was not a simple woman by any definition.

Victoria nuzzled closer to his chest. He tightened his hold on her in return. She had treated him with the tenderness befitting a lover last time they'd been so close. Maybe Charon could return the favor– it certainly felt like what she needed was some tenderness. He refused to consider whether or not he wanted to treat her tenderly for purely altruistic reasons.

His hand splayed across her shoulder blades and rubbed gentle circles into her skin. This proved to be a mistake on his part, because even as her breathing began to steady and her shaking stilled, he just couldn't get over the softness of her skin. The tiny raised blemishes and scars and imperfections made her all the more beautiful, and he gritted his teeth at how his body responded to her.

He wished he was wearing his armor. The cup of the codpiece would certainly be uncomfortable, but absolutely preferable to this. This was not the time, nor the place, he inwardly snarled. This wasn't about him. It was disrespectful– his body had no right to get hard while she was sobbing, naked in his arms, after being raped and nearly killed. She was his _employer_ for fuck's sake. She needed him to be a rock she could ground herself upon, not a rock-hard dick she could grind herself upon– _wait bad metaphor, bad metaphor_ –!

His eyes were still shut tight, but he felt her look up, and then down, separating their bodies enough to reveal his shame. Charon gently released her and slowly put his hands to his sides, awaiting judgement or punishment or both. He'd take whatever she gave him– he'd deserve it.

She didn't speak. He guessed her throat was still in too much pain to speak beyond what was necessary. He cringed when she took his hands in hers– probably to lead him outside, or hold him still while she beat the shit out of him. Other employers had done much worse to him for his infractions– he had been conditioned to expect punishment–

She guided his hands to her hips. He was frozen again, torn between surprise and suspicion– was this a test of some sort? Her hands smoothed over his, fitting them to her hips and he could feel her soft layers of fat from years of being well-fed in a vault. Victoria's fingers trailed up his arms, and if his skin still worked that way, he'd have goosebumps from head to toe. Her fingers linked behind his neck and her forehead rested against his sternum.

She was still for the moment, their bodies separated by the awkward tent in Charon's pants. This was feeling less and less like comfort, and he was more and more uncertain what she wanted from him. He couldn't do anything but wait and see. This wasn't about him.

Eventually she took a shaky breath in and let it out slow. He felt her head move to look up at him. "Charon..." She said, her voice wasted. It tore at his chest, but he remained stoic. She would tell him what she needed, and he would provide, as always. This was about her.

"Charon, please..." Her brittle voice broke and just about took his heart with it. He squeezed her hips gently, pleadingly. _Just tell me what you want from me_ –

She had to take another shaky breath before trying again. Her voice was little more than a whisper.

"Please look at me."

It wasn't an order. There was no pull from the contract. Charon was free to refuse, but he was not a strong enough man to. She was always so beautiful, and he did hate to stare, but she also sounded so fragile; so broken, that he couldn't find it in himself to tell her no.

Charon opened his eyes and immediately regretted it.

Victoria looked worse than her voice sounded. Her hair was mussed, makeup ruined and running in tear tracks down her cheeks. Her nose was running and a faintly purple ring was slowly darkening around her throat. Her eyes were teary and bloodshot, but she was looking up at him with a strange mix of gratitude and need. She tried to speak again, but Charon couldn't bear to watch. He pulled her head to his chest and boldly pressed his lips to the top of her head.

"What do you need?" He murmured roughly into her hair.

"He's still here," she whispered. Charon glanced at the body and made to pull away, but she tugged insistently on his neck.

"He's still _here_ ," she said into his chest, tapping on the back of his skull.

Charon nodded, understanding. She was volatile, still reliving the ordeal. She needed to work through it. She needed his patience.

"I want to help." He tentatively stroked her hair, still very conscious of both her nudity and the distance between them. It didn't matter. She needed him and he was there. Even if all she needed was to not be alone, he would be more than happy to stand guard over her all night.

She looked up at him with shining eyes.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

That particular order of words was incomprehensible.

"What."

She was looking at him plainly, with scrutiny unbefitting of a woman who'd just been assaulted. "Do you want to _fuck_ me, Charon?" She repeated. Even with a damaged voice, he recognized the tone of trickery in her voice. _This_ was the test, and she was kind enough to give him emphasis on the particular trapped word.

"No," Charon said. No, he did not want to _fuck_ Victoria, but it was not refusal, and she knew it. She waited for the expected clarification with an unreadable expression.

The connotation of the word "fuck" implied a lack of emotion, a lack of connection. If he was to "fuck" her, it would be for bodily pleasure alone. Charon was certain he _couldn't_ do that. He couldn't expose himself as much as she needed him to without truly _feeling_ his affection toward her. In the same vein, he couldn't try to _pretend_ to be tender when he already felt such disgustingly genuine fondness toward her.

It was a somewhat terrifying situation. She needed something new, but if Charon provided, it would certainly mean change. He was sure Victoria was not so naive to think this wouldn't end in change, especially after what they'd already done.

He did not deserve to touch her. She deserved more than he could provide, as far as partners went. But it wasn't about what she deserved this time. This was about what she needed. She needed the memory of the mechanic's hands out of her head, wiped off of her skin, and she had asked _Charon_ to provide?

Charon himself was not so naive to think she would proposition him if she felt she had another option. He had already proven himself too selfish a man to tell her no, but was he strong enough to say yes the way she needed him to? He would certainly try.

"I w–" He started, but his trembling lips refused.

Again.

"You nnn–" His tongue froze uncooperatively.

This was much harder than it should be. Charon swallowed and cupped her face, looking into her eyes apologetically. He wasn't sure if that made it easier or harder.

"I want to m–" his throat closed and tears pricked his eyes. His face twisted and his eyes shut. What a coward, couldn't even tell her how he felt. Maybe this was a mistake. He should have just kept his mouth shut and left it at 'no.' She deserved more than a yellow-bellied, good for nothing, damaged-goods–

"–mmmake love to me?"

She finished his pathetic attempt at a sentence with a familiar ribbing lilt. He opened his eyes. Victoria was _smiling_. _You silly man_ , she seemed to tell him, _you ridiculous, foolish man_. And Charon did feel like a fool. He'd been kidding himself, hoping beyond a shadow of possibility that she didn't know how he felt. She'd known long before she'd given him the opportunity to touch her. She _knew_ , and it was _okay_. Charon could see it in her eyes. It was a look that could bring peace to someone in the throes of death. A look that promised everything was going to be okay. Emotions could be sorted out later. Right now, she needed him as a lover.

Charon nodded, the lump in his throat too big to talk around.

Her smile grew and she blinked. Fresh tears spilled over. His thumbs drew over her cheeks to wipe them away and her hands moved to cover his. Soft and smooth against rough and ragged.

Victoria pressed her body to his once more, and he held her as if his life depended on it. She was crying again– _did she ever run out of tears_? Charon thought, then swallowed a gasp when she rolled her hips against him. Right. He had a job to do.

Emboldened by her teasing and reassurance, Charon crouched and picked her up by the back of her thighs. Her legs came around him out of necessity first, but then she _squeezed_ her thighs around his hips and Charon almost smiled. He knelt to lay her on the bed and stayed close, framing her body with his own.

With her legs already spread around his hips, Charon grinded against her, plainclothes be damned. Victoria shook her head, impatient. Her hands traveled quickly, clumsily to his hips to shove his pants down. She grumbled unintelligibly (a habit she'd picked up from him) when his pants only got about halfway down his ass, his cock uncomfortably trapped in the waistband. The poor girl didn't have the reach– Charon was too tall. He chuckled. She gave him a pout that didn't reach her eyes.

It was an easy matter to stand and pull off his pants and toe off his shoes. Her eyes widened at the size of him and he reined in the immediate glow of pride. He was... Proportional. At least she didn't look scared.

He moved to return to her, but ran into her foot at his sternum. Charon didn't ask, he could see it in her playful expression that she was going to tell him what else she wanted. Indeed, she stuck her cold, clammy toes under his shirt and poked him until he pulled his shirt off too. She knew he wasn't a fan of stripping beyond what was necessary, but they both knew he would make an exception for her.

Then she opened her needy arms, reaching for him. Charon's heart somersaulted painfully. He committed the image to memory, just in case this first time was the last, in case she died before he did. _This_ was how he wanted to remember her. It didn't matter how smooth her skin was, or how much of it was exposed. He couldn't care less how much weight or lack thereof clung to her bones. As long as he remembered those tearful, wanting, _trusting_ eyes; those hands that reached out to him so desperately... A picture he refused to let the sands of time bleach from his memory.

Charon knelt and laid himself between her legs once more, burying his face in her shoulder. She clung to him like she couldn't get close enough. He smiled ruefully against her collar. If he was forced to swallow his fondness for her in the future, this memory would sting like hell, but the pain was probably worth the pleasure. He tentatively began a trail of kisses up her throat. Victoria sighed her appreciation and arched her back, grinding into him _hard_.

"Impatient," Charon softly scolded, even as he pulled away to kneel and run the head of his dick through her folds, slicking himself up the best he could. She craned her neck to look between their bodies as he lined himself up, but in her eyes there was the slightest shred of uncertainty. He paused and pressed a long kiss to her forehead, an indulgence for him; a promise to her. To lay his lips on any part of her felt like an affront to the gods, but when he pulled back to her soft smile, her uncertainty gone? Any divine retribution would be worth it if the sin was this sweet.

He lifted her hips to meet him. The mechanic had fucked her rough enough to let Charon slowly slide into her with little fanfare. They both sucked in a breath long before he could bottom out. Victoria closed her eyes against the size, but Charon was staring at her wide-eyed, trying to keep himself grounded. She was hot and wet and tight and soft and _perfect_ and Charon's heart fluttered at the promise of being buried in her, lost in her. But not yet. He wanted to take his time, show her the tenderness she needed.

"Relax," he murmured. He felt her body obey. She sighed breathlessly, reaching down to grab at his thighs. Her hips canted toward him languidly as she pulled, begging for more, fuller– _closer_. Victoria opened her mouth to say something, but it was lost in a moan as Charon rolled his hips, driving himself a little deeper. She clenched around him, but relaxed again with a whining moan.

Charon couldn't help himself. "Beautiful," he said softly. Victoria opened her eyes and looked at him with a strange bittersweet smile. He stilled, but ran a hand up her body to cup her face. She closed her eyes, letting loose a new wave of tears, and leaned into his gentle touch.

Charon's heart stuttered. From an outside perspective, they couldn't be anything but lovers– from his obvious fondness, to how she welcomed every touch. It was the cruelest she'd ever been to him. He had never wanted anything– any _one_ more in his life, but _God_ , he didn't want to think about the aftermath. Never before had anything felt so _right_ , but when she inevitably told him it meant nothing, he wouldn't be able to cope. Charon wasn't sure if he could pick up the pieces of his heart this time.

Her hands tightened slightly, pushing the worries from his mind.

He could suffer later. Right now, she needed him.

Charon began pressing a line of careful kisses down her throat as he rolled his hips, sheathing himself in her. Victoria sniffled a gasp and moaned next to his ear, a broken, desperate sound. " _Fuck_ ," she whimpered. He couldn't imagine being cruel enough to keep her waiting a moment longer.

She began openly sobbing with his first gentle thrust. It was different from earlier– this time she didn't stop. It wasn't pretty. Her gasping cries were too loud next to his ear– at one point she choked on her tears and Charon stilled to let her clear her lungs- and she was still perfect.

Victoria clung to him as he settled into a slow rhythm. She wept into his shoulder, his neck, and in turn he ran his hands down the lines of her shaking body beneath him. Charon moved his fingers down the delicate flesh of her throat. The thought of sucking his own marks into her sent a thrill down his back, but not now; not when she was already sporting a violent collar of bruising.

She allowed him to move downwards and he kissed a particularly dark freckle in the center of her chest. She was speckled with them, a night sky– no, a galaxy, in the minute variations of her skin. The softness of her breasts should be illegal, Charon thought, caressing the peaks of her nipples and squeezing in time with his gentle rhythm.

Victoria whined when he pulled away, but groaned at the change in angle. His hands seemed huge against her ribs, so big he could feel her shoulderblades even as the tips of his thumbs ran under her breasts. She arched in his hands, threw her head back, and _clenched_ around him.

Charon sucked in a shaky breath and felt himself twitch _hard_ inside her. Victoria answered with a low, satisfied hum and moved her hips toward his. He met her halfway with a particularly sharp thrust of his own and he was rewarded with her high, sweet gasp and her reaching arms, already wanting him closer again. He obliged, resting himself on his elbows, one hand snaking its way to gently hold the back of her head.

Her hands raced over the ragged skin of his arms, shoulders, back, waist, looking for the best place to hold him close. Charon's pace quickened. The rolling motion of his hips turned into a deep rut and she held him like she was afraid he'd disappear. Charon pressed himself close. He wasn't going anywhere. Never would she have ever doubted that– he was bound to her by contract after all– but if she needed a reminder, he was more than willing to provide. A bodyguard keeps their charge safe. A good bodyguard makes them _feel_ safe.

 _A lover makes love_ , a small voice in him remarked, and Charon closed his eyes. He had avoided the word, even as he felt it. _Love_. The disgustingly tender emotion that he couldn't afford to let himself feel. Not for her.

But it was so damn difficult when she sighed his name and tightened around him, encouraging the coil of pleasure in his gut. He couldn't help but put his disobedient heart into every thrust, hoping she understood that he wanted to give her everything; wanted so badly to become something he wasn't– but couldn't, _wouldn't_ let himself be destroyed. That was the ultimate end to this, he knew. He reached between their bodies to rub at her clit and mourned his stupid, pathetic heart. He would meet the same end that all her flings did– drained of use, as good as dead, heart utterly destroyed by loving her.

It wasn't even her fault. Charon smiled, horribly fond as she arched into his touch and canted her hips toward his fingers. It wasn't her fault. He couldn't hold it against her. Anyone who spent enough time around her eventually fell victim to her charm, and Charon was no exception. She was just so damn wonderful.

Victoria whined and squirmed, grinding herself against his hand with every thrust. She was close.

He lowered his forehead to the sheets over her shoulder and quickened his pace. "Yes..." She sighed and began panting. "Yes, yes, yes–" The rough mantra was desperate, and Charon couldn't have stopped his rhythm if he tried. His fingers threaded into the roots of her hair and she gasped in his ear, tightening around him.

If Charon had been focused on his own pleasure, he would have come already, but he very nearly did anyway as Victoria threw her head to the side, arched, and made the loveliest sound, strangled and shuddering and rough and too-loud and _all because of him_. The hands clutching his back turned into almost-sharp-enough nails, dragging deliciously down his back to twist in the sheets. Her walls squeezed him with the pulses of her pleasure and he adamantly kept his hips moving for her. This was about _her_ , not him. With some effort, he managed to fend off the overwhelming feeling of her orgasming around his cock– if just barely. His fingers simply pressed on her clit, not rubbing, though with the way she writhed and shook, it didn't matter.

Charon estimated she saw white for a solid half-minute, and felt a bit of pride as he pulled back a bit. When she started jerking in overstimulation, he stilled his hips and moved his fingers feather-light across her vulva. Only half a foot away, they panted into each others' air. Charon watched her perfect lips, smeared with her signature red lipstick, wet with saliva and tears. He removed his fingers from the roots of her hair to simply hold the back of her head and he watched those lips twitch into a sweet smile as she leaned into his touch. Her eyes were closed, and as much as Charon wanted to see her eyes, he couldn't remember her ever looking so peaceful, blissful even. A useless thought, but he wanted her to find such peace every day of her life.

Then she _did_ open her eyes, and they were filled with such... _Adoration_... Charon's heart skipped so hard he thought for a moment she'd killed him. That wasn't a look meant for him– or rather, he wasn't made to receive a look like that. He was meant to get looks of disgust, of anger, of nothing at all– maybe of trust, as Victoria had taught him– but not of adoration. How sweet a fantasy– that she could adore him, _love_ him, even, but how cruel of her to look at him so sweetly, to squeeze his tired heart in her hand.

He shouldn't kid himself. Charon shut his eyes and hung his head off to the side. He reined himself in. He'd given her what she needed, his job was done, unless she required something more of him. He did want to get rid of the body so she wouldn't have to. He propped himself up on one arm and carefully slid out of her–

Victoria surged upward, shoving him off balance and leaving him sprawled on his back. Though surprised, he didn't fight her. Her weight settled on top of him, her arms wrapped around his chest, her face nestled in his neck. Another pang of resigned heartbreak struck him. The longer she had him around, the more difficult it would be to put himself back together. But he couldn't find it in himself to push her away, not after what they'd just done; not after how she'd looked at him. She could do whatever she wanted. Charon stared numbly at the ceiling as his hands automatically came to rest at her back. Part of him refused to listen to reason and _craved_ her touch, her affection, her _attention_. She shifted to get comfortable and her thighs brushed his cock. His stomach tightened and eyes closed, willing his body to calm. Victoria didn't seem to notice or care, she just nestled further into his throat.

As his thoughts spiraled, it took him entirely too long to realize her head was moving slightly. Was she crying again? It was a slow rocking, or... pecking motion? Then her mouth opened and the realization felt like static behind his temples, fuzzy and buzzing and impossible. She was brushing her lips to his throat ever so softly. Chaste kisses, almost imperceptible until she opened her mouth and the barest friction from her teeth catching on his rough skin made his leg kick, heel digging into the sheets. She had the audacity to _smile_ against his skin. Charon could have cried. He'd never known her to be cruel, and yet here she was. He'd already given her everything, but she insisted on taking more, lording herself over his heart like a dragon amongst treasure.

Victoria's tongue laved over the ruined skin under his ear. The warmth, the wetness, the _feeling_ of her on sensitive skin sent electricity down his back. The feeling pooled on either side of his tailbone, forcing his hips to jerk forward. She huffed a voiceless laugh against his throat and something inside Charon snapped. He put a hand on her shoulder with just enough pressure to make her pull away. Victoria looked at him with hurt and confusion, like she didn't know how she affected him.

"Why?" Charon asked unsteadily. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

Victoria tilted her head. Slowly she shifted, straddling his waist, her hands braced on his chest. "Because I want to?"

Charon looked at her sharply, glaring. There was no reason she should 'want to', unless perhaps she was feeling particularly needy in her state. "You shouldn't."

"Why not?" Victoria asked, offended.

"Because I can't!" Charon bit and immediately regretted how loud he was, how she recoiled slightly. He softly rubbed her thighs in apology, speaking more gently. "I cannot be what you want me to be."

This confused her for a reason Charon couldn't wrap his head around. She looked at him with a hint of amusement, like he was kidding, like she was expecting a punchline, and Charon almost snarled. She wasn't taking this seriously.

"I _can't_ ," he tried again, "because you deserve better."

The humor in her eyes disappeared.

"You–" Charon swallowed. "You should not entertain me," he said, "I have nothing to give you." His eyebrows knitted. "And you have everything to take."

"Charon..." Victoria admonished in a rough whisper, almost sounding hurt, "I care about you too much to just "entertain" you. In fact," She paused. Hesitation. Apprehension. Then– "I think I love you."

This was the cruelest prank she'd ever played on him. She couldn't love him, he wasn't worthy, barely _capable_. She deserved someone who could give her everything she wanted and more. He was just a bodyguard, a glorified slave. A warm body she could choose to use and dispose of at her discretion, he thought sourly.

"You don't," he said, barely able to look at her.

Victoria held his glare and he watched her sober, her eyes hardening. This was not a look for the bedroom. She was giving him a piercing look that meant she was serious. This was not to be taken lightly. This was the kind of look she gave him when she asked if he was _sure_ he was ready to take on a nest of deathclaws, or if he was absolutely certain each rescued slave's collar had been disarmed. He'd been through these dire situations enough times to recognize that it was a look that meant she was asking for his complete trust and honesty. It was a look that promised she would give him the same in return.

"I do." Her voice was soft and hard at the same time, warm and cold and quiet and rough. He was locked into her green gaze, paralyzed, so he was certain she saw the realization take hold.

It physically struck him at his temples and the base of his head; a whirling, burning, vertigo feeling, like the earth had shifted an inch or two to the side and he couldn't get his feet back underneath him.

As if sensing his hesitation, Victoria put her hands on his, sliding them up her body to the top of her waist. He held her reverently, looking at her with new eyes as she reached behind herself and grasped his cock. It didn't take much to coax him back to full hardness. She squeezed him and inched back, lining herself up and wetly sinking onto him until they were flush, hip to hip, her legs on either side on him.

Charon stared up at her, and she stared back. Victoria didn't move, barely twitched around him, she just sat with her hands on his chest and looked at him with an expression so tender he had to close his eyes. A soft hand cupped his cheek. He dared to lean into it and it moved to wrap around the back of his head. She shifted, leaning forward enough that her breasts came to rest against his chest.

They were almost one like this, slotted together like puzzle pieces, warm and natural and _right_ , and Charon held her close, trying to let himself believe she wanted him– wanted more than just a warm, willing body. She touched him as though she wanted to; wanted _him_. Her hands directed his to explore; her eyes encouraged him not just to give, but take. He was so fearful of hurting her; of touching her greedily like others did, but she hummed and smiled when he squeezed her hips, her thighs, mapping her perfect skin. Victoria was resting her chin on his sternum, watching him with a tenderness that somehow didn't make him feel like squirming. Her hand on the back of his neck tensed as she pulled herself closer to his face.

She kissed him.

They were both still. A mistaken brush of the lips, he was certain, but she didn't pull away. Somewhere in his head, this was wrong, all wrong, she was the _employer_ , but it didn't matter. He couldn't deny her– didn't want to. Just being near her had been a trickle of tender gasoline that had pooled and pooled and she'd struck a match. There was no point in resisting any longer, not when his heart, once a stone, then softened by her, was unrecognizable, black, and slick, and volatile, trembling in the palm of her hand.

Victoria tentatively moved her lips. The match fell.

She kissed him and his heart ignited. An inferno so hot it burned in shades of red and green. It was a hungry, all-consuming blaze that scorched away the rest of the world until there was just her, just here, just this moment. Nothing else mattered but her. Her hands on him, so soft, but so strong in their resolve. Her body against and around him, warm and wanting; _needing_. Her mouth, her _tongue_ , asking for entry.

Charon kissed her back. He didn't kiss her with fire. He kissed her with gasoline, with the slow pour of the molten remains of his heart. Tears pricked his eyes, nearly squeezing past his eyelid, and he knew that he loved her. He was helplessly, hopelessly in love with her.

His hips twitched up into her and she gasped against his mouth. It was a high, delighted noise, and he could feel her smile in her next kiss. Water landed on his cheek and he opened his own wet eyes.

She was crying– no, leaking. Victoria wasn't sobbing or shaking, but tears fell down her cheeks, through her proud, surprised smile, and onto him. Charon pulled her down against his chest where she broke down once more. She worked her hips against him desperately until he started gently rolling his hips into her and her sobs sounded more like laughter, high and pure.

They stayed that way for a long time, moving against each other slowly, not in pursuit of finishing, but the animal comfort that came with being so close; coming to terms with loving and being loved. Charon could barely believe that she could love him. It was always something he'd only imagined, never truly considered. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been terrified– certainly never like this. It was frightening, but the way she mouthed and licked at his neck and gently trailed her fingers over his ribs seemed to promise she wasn't going anywhere; wasn't going to leave him alone.

Something rose in him slowly, then faster and faster, enveloping his insides like water bubbling up from a spring. What was it? It wasn't a climax, but almost more than just emotion. It wasn't hot, but warm... Disgustingly fluffy, Charon thought even as an elated smile spread across his face. When was the last time he had truly, _truly_ smiled? His arms tightened around Victoria, and the giddy feeling grew until Charon could not physically contain the overflow.

He laughed. That's what he would have called it anyway.

Victoria would have said he giggled, if she wasn't already busy giggling with him. They embraced each other tight and Charon pressed his uncontrollable smile into her neck, breathing in the scent of her. She laughed like he'd never heard before: utterly delighted, no polite falsities or regret. It was pure, unadulterated joy, and Charon realized that was the emotion that overwhelmed him. It would have seemed ridiculous to him before he met her– how could one person make him feel such happiness? The usual shreds and scraps of happiness were found in any bed softer than concrete, a hot meal at the end of the day; a warm gun– but the simple weight of Victoria and her words brought him to tears.

She settled before he did, bringing herself upright to sit upon his hips. All it took was the change in angle to remind him that he was still very much buried inside her. His leftover laughter dissolved into a hearty, shivery moan, and Victoria paused, wide-eyed. Charon didn't have to ask for her to answer.

"That... was _really_ hot."

Charon couldn't help but snort, first in disbelief, then at her bluntness, no doubt brought on by the still-dwindling traces of her orgasm. Victoria spluttered and slapped his chest far too lightly for her to be truly upset. "Don't– I don't want you to laugh, I want you to do that again!" Even now, she was careful about her orders. She really was too wonderful.

Her playfulness was contagious. Or she just made him bold. She tended to have that effect on people. "Perhaps you should make me," Charon murmured. The shiver that went down her back ended in the cradle of her hips with a rippling pulse around him. He huffed a shallow breath, stifling any noise, and Victoria narrowed her eyes, accepting his challenge.

She slowly lifted herself until he was just barely inside. Charon resisted the urge to cringe at the relative coldness of the house. He was more sensitive now that this wasn't just for her. He was allowed to enjoy himself. She _wanted_ him to.

Victoria clenched around him and grinded down at a positively _divine_ angle, and Charon tossed his head back with a choked groan. She whined and seated herself on his cock, rocking her hips slowly at first, but soon braced her hands on his chest and accelerated to a quick, desperate rut.

She was soaked. The warm, wet slide of her against and around him made such slick, obscene sounds. Charon had no comparison for soft she was, inside and out. He cupped her supple breasts, passed his thumbs over her nipples and ran his hands down her body. They came to rest around her hips, feeling, grasping, wanting her to keep pace. Charon knew as he looked up at her, her fingers splayed across his ragged chest, her face twisted in effort and pleasure, that he wasn't going to last. It roiled in his stomach, moving southward to pool in his hips.

"Close," he grunted.

"Already..." Victoria said breathlessly. There was no disappointment. She almost sounded impressed. Appreciative.

Charon growled, his hips twitching up into her. That's what she did to him, after all. He couldn't hope to hold back now, not after learning how she felt. He hoped she wouldn't be disappointed, but she didn't slow down or touch herself. She wasn't trying to come with him. A shame, to be sure, but he'd be more than happy to pleasure her for hours with whatever else he had at his disposal. He already knew he would enjoy spending a lifetime feasting between her thighs.

The memory of her orgasm on his tongue coupled with the feeling of her squeezing down on him had him panting, chasing the pleasure that was coiling, _coiling_ –

On the wire's edge, Charon jerked his hips up into her once and put his hands underneath her, urging her to lift off of him. It almost worked, but he only succeeded in making her halt with the head of his cock trapped within her.

"What? What's wrong?" She asked, far too concerned.

Charon snarled. He was nearly shaking, trying desperately to stay balanced on the edge. She had confessed to loving him, but he would not debauch her by coming inside her.

"I'm going to come," he said quickly through gritted teeth. What part of that didn't she understand?

"Okay?" Victoria looked baffled, even as his words seemed to make her shiver.

"Not inside."

"Why not?"

The question took him off guard and Charon found he didn't have an answer for her. Not one he knew she wouldn't dismiss. His eyes widened with the realization that she had no qualms about having him come inside her.

She was looking at him with humor and fire in her eyes, issuing a challenge like she had on countless other occasions. _Do it, you won't_ , her eyes dared him, _I want you to, so you won't. Prove me wrong, I dare you_. She knew how spiteful he could be. She knew how to press all his buttons. Victoria smiled wickedly and sank down in one quick movement, then bounced back up. The edge had been staved off, but it returned with a vengeance as she rode him fast and hard, and he didn't fight it.

Charon stiffened and shook as he came. His first impression rang true– she was hot and wet and tight and soft and _perfect_ – and his heart was still on fire– and he was lost in her folds around him– lost in the softness of her skin, lost in her– She made up the world, all he could see, hear, smell, taste, touch... He was gone, elsewhere, nowhere, but unworried, because she was everywhere, and as long as she was around, he was right where he needed to be.

It took him far too long to find his body again. He could see before he could feel. His cock was still weakly throbbing in her, aching as she milked him for all he was worth. The painful pleasure caught up a moment later and he choked a gasp, trembling and writhing. Victoria seemed to luxuriate in the feeling, slowly grinding with closed eyes and a pleased, content smile. She was too much, this woman.

"Please–" Charon managed to get out. Overstimulation rubbed him raw, electrified his spine and made his limbs jerk uncontrollably. Victoria, cunning fox she was, slowly came to a stop, eyeing him with a sort of sadistic satisfaction that Charon found more attractive than he expected. _Siren_ , Charon thought with a hazy humor as his body just about melted into the bed, the electric feeling fading. She purposefully squeezed around him just to hear his breath catch; just to see the muscles of his abdomen tense beneath her. _Vixen_ , he added inwardly with a dazed smile.

Victoria looked smug, pleased as punch. Charon supposed she took pride in causing him such incoherence. He guessed it could be considered quite the feat, reducing him, the cold, stoic bodyguard, to such an incoherent mess.

"I've never seen you so relaxed," she said softly, her smugness gone. Well, that was another good reason to be pleased. Charon had certainly felt accomplished and satisfied after making her come. Maybe it was just the satisfaction of a job well done, but no, he'd be kidding himself. He enjoyed pleasuring her because he loved her, plain and simple. He'd told her months ago that if she was happy, he was too. Never would he have thought about it in this light.

Victoria shifted backward and his cock slid out of her wetly. His spend leaked from inside her onto his thigh. She seemed to have an idea, if her sudden focus was any indication. Charon had caught his breath, but his consciousness was almost slipping, so he didn't catch on to what she was trying until she was already in the smooth rhythm of rubbing off against his leg, using their combined spend as lube.

"Insatiable," Charon mumbled, but dragged himself backward and propped himself up on his elbows to watch, enraptured.

"Just making sure," she said softly. This confused him until she reached a hand up to rub at the ring around her neck. _Oh_. Making sure every last inch of her was wiped clean, free of the memory of violent hands. Charon nodded, understanding. He just laid back and watched her, feeling lucky to be treated to such a show. But it wasn't a show, not now. She put on shows when others pleasured her; when she was trying to get what she wanted, but she already had it, here. This was no show, Victoria was just enjoying herself, plain and simple. She was not selfish as she used him– he was not just an unremarkable pawn to her pleasure, he was still a participant. Her hands splayed down his chest, down his abdomen, tracing over the torn skin with a genuine interest; a fascination. He wondered if she enjoyed the texture of his warped skin.

If he wanted her to stop, he was certain he'd just have to say the word. But he didn't, because he enjoyed her. _All_ of her. From the way she bit down on her lip, to the way her nails scraped with _almost_ enough bite. She gave far more than she took. She'd given him fondness, first, then tenderness. She'd given him the smoothness of her thighs, the softness of her breasts; the freckles between her nipples. The warmth between her thighs was never something he expected to receive– to _know_ , but here they were. For all she gave, she'd taken his heart and Charon prayed she would be gentle with it.

He pressed his thigh up into her on a whim and she positively _mewled_ , leaning forward to adjust to the new angle. He smiled and squeezed her hips, helping to guide her; to take some of the strain off her thighs where they tensed around his own. She was enjoying herself, not yet pursuing the finish, just the journey.

Victoria slowed and grabbed one of his hands. She laced their fingers for just a moment, looked at him, squeezed, then brought his hand to her neck. Charon was very unsure, and even more wary, but he understood. His fingers looked monstrous against her fragile throat, so he was all the gentler when he curled his hand around the back of her head and caressed the line of bruising with his thumb. Her breathing caught for just a heartbeat, then continued, too even to not be measured. She switched between watching him intently and closing her eyes in effort, but Charon just kept stroking her neck, as though the bruise was no more than a blemish he could dust away.

When he'd fully painted her neck with his thumb, he slid his hand down to rest, feather-light, on the side of her throat. Victoria leaned into it and resumed rubbing down against him. He felt air rush down into her lungs in a deep breath. How lucky he was, that she was still breathing. That the mechanic had not crushed her windpipe beyond repair. That she was warm and lovely and lively above him.

Charon couldn't bear to be so far away. He propped himself up on his other hand and covered her throat in slow, wet kisses. Victoria whined and grinded down with a fervor that meant she was seeking now. He leveraged his ankle to nudge up into her with her rhythm down and back and forth. She seemed to have found a particular spot, perhaps a rougher patch of skin. Charon couldn't tell– everything was so slick and hot– but he laved his tongue along her throat and helped her along the best he could. He trusted her to take what she needed.

And she did.

She was a force of nature, this woman. A wildfire, dancing with a hot, dangerous, unpredictable kind of abandon. A monsoon, cleansing even as he drowned in her flood. An earthquake, ancient tension snapping, shaking apart around him, sudden and violent and surprising, and then still. So terribly, wonderfully still. Silent.

Victoria's head was tilted up, her eyes closed, frozen save for the subtle rise and fall of her chest. She was picturesque– an artfully carved statue capturing exhaustion, satiation; the deepest form of satisfaction. _Radiant_. The word came to Charon in a flash and it felt as fitting as if he'd looked up the definition in an ancient dictionary. He pressed light, reverent kisses to her neck. She didn't move. His hand traced down her collar to splay over her heart, the rhythm on its way to peaceful. One hand covered his as she breathed deeply, and Charon was reminded of ocean waves washing up against the shore, steady and constant and calm.

He laid back down, propped up by her pillow. When he lifted his hand from her chest, she followed it, forward and forward until they were chest-to-chest, heart-to-heart. If he closed his eyes and paid enough attention, he might have been able to feel their hearts begin to sync. But, that would have included closing his eyes, and there was a part of him deep inside that said if he shut his eyes, she wouldn't be there when he opened them again, as if this was a sick dream, or she was an angel, or a hallucination-

"I've wanted that for a long time."

Her voice was barely a whisper brushing what was left of his ear, but he almost jumped. The sensation of her breath was more than enough to make his stomach flip, but the _meaning_ filled him with a warmth so unfamiliar it was almost sickening. Had she felt that way when she'd allowed him to eat her out? Had she actually been thinking of _him_ when the mechanic had her from behind? Her tenderness was more than an act? Everything that had seemed so inconceivable made sense– if she was being truthful– it slotted into place as perfectly as she fit in his arms. If she could love him... Could he let himself love her back? He wasn't quite sure how, but for her, he'd try.

Her hands slithered against the sheets until she found his and laced their fingers. She squeezed his hands and barely breathed and he realized she was waiting for him to say something, to return or refuse the sentiment. Charon didn't know why she would– Victoria was always shameless, self-assured, confident. She very rarely needed reassurance. She didn't pull back to look at him, however. She didn't prod or tease or sigh. She just waited for him, patient beyond patient.

The words felt large and awkward in his mouth. "I did not let myself want." It wasn't entirely truthful– he tried his damnedest not to want her, but it happened anyway.

Her smile pressed into his throat. Charon was certain she didn't fully understand, but she only said, "And now?"

"I am afraid to." The honest statement flowed like water in comparison to the heavy stones of an expected emotional response.

Victoria was silent, pensive, and Charon thought for a moment he'd said something wrong, but she squeezed his hands again.

"I was too," she said simply, and it seemed preposterous– Victoria, afraid? Charon could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen her genuinely afraid, including the incident just that day– "Then I took a chance," she continued softly. His mind pulled up a snapshot memory, looking up from between her thighs– "And I could see that you wanted it too–" She pursed her lips. "But I needed you to see that for yourself before I did anything brash. I guess that plan didn't quite work out."

Charon was baffled. It sounded like she'd put far too much thought into the state of their relationship. She'd had so much time to think about it, about _him_ , and expected him to make some sort of move on her? She knew him better than that. He would have felt offended if he didn't understand. But he did. He was contractually bound to do as she said. But, she also wouldn't have given him an order, not for something like that. She wouldn't _make_ him do anything unless it was absolutely vital. She'd given him the freedom to relearn how to be someone, and now it didn't matter if she was the employer or not. He was not a slave. He was hers, and that had nothing to do with the contract.

Charon angled his head toward her and she obligingly pulled back to look at him.

"You are an idiot."

For a split second, her expression was flabbergasted, absolutely comical, then it split into a joyous grin. She laughed unreservedly, loud and obnoxious and delighted and Charon loved her all the more for it.

She laid her head back down onto his chest, still chuckling, still naked and warm and boneless, and still _here_ against him. The tender feeling that blossomed in his chest was becoming more and more familiar, and, Charon thought, maybe that wasn't a bad thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my second published work, and Kudos and Comments sustain me! If you want to see more from me, let me know! 
> 
> I welcome all constructive criticism! Please let me know if I missed any tags!


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